


Make me forget that I'm not ready for love

by Anonymous



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (a tiny bit), (kinda), Dirty Talk, Everybody Lives, First Time, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, M/M, Neck Kissing, Pacifist Ending, Pining, Post-Canon, Sensuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 21:26:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15252387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Stay like this, if you want,” Hank whispers against his earlobe, fingers caressing down his navel with deadly intent. “Or punch me across the face if you don’t.”





	Make me forget that I'm not ready for love

**Author's Note:**

> New fandom, new obsession. Hello, fellow robo-fuckers!
> 
> A little clarification before starting: Markus and Simon kiss in this one instead of Markus and North, because why not.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

It takes Connor the better part of a month to come to terms with his newfound deviancy. The revolution seems eons away; tucked away into the heavy sleeves of Markus’ coat, the first taste of fear still iron-liquid on his tongue.

 

He’s slow on the uptake. Where fellows androids are already putting those so called feelings into words, he’s stuck trying to figure out which way the current in his wiring tugs at his consciousness. The entirety of the English language stacked in his programming seems to mock him, taut him by picking at his inadequacy. He’s an android turned into a human that scares away from being one, and how is he supposed to be one or the other when he is stuck in between?

 

He doesn’t have a clue. Hank doesn’t, either, but he’s patient. Doesn’t think Connor is a failure of both an android and a human for not having everything figured out. And that’s the only reason why Connor hasn’t turned back to Cyberlife and begged them to shut all his systems down. Because he thinks that if he can be half the human that Hank is, he will have found the reason why this instability began beating against his chest a long time ago.

 

It’s not easy, though. Not even when Hank is there, trying to smooth out his frustration with himself and with the world. It’s even less easy when Hank is too drunk to care about his own vulnerability and whispers against the strained muscle of Connor’s bicep how he wished navigating his deviancy wouldn’t hurt Connor like this. How he wished he could just… take all the pain Connor didn’t deserve to feel and weight it all into his chest.

 

Connor doesn’t have the mind to reply, too busy taking Hank’s weight in his arms and feeling a shearing heat that scares his limbs into locking tight. His body had felt that type of heat before, when Cyberlife had fused his joints together, but now… Now it spread from the smooth planes of his chest to the very tip of his fingertips, clogging his throat in the process. _Protectiveness,_ his mind replied helpfully, Hank’s head tilting weakly into Connor’s neck as he choked on a breath he didn’t even need.

 

There’s a process to understanding emotions but Connor knows that he will never be able to understand that particular one. It’s impossible to rationalize a feeling that rages through him like a strayed thunderbolt, one that has him fiercely focused on a single person. Maybe that’s what scares him the most; knowing that there’s something more powerful than the ones who designed him to be invincible.

 

But the conversation doesn’t come up when Hank is sober, so Connor lets it be, lets his body tingle with the memory of Hank’s sincerity bathed in whiskey and his too-warm breath on his synthetic skin. He does a good job of keeping himself (and Hank, for that matter) in check, continues on and pretends that he doesn’t know he is one of Hank’s weakest points.

 

He has it down to a science by the time the two-month anniversary of the revolution rolls around, and then he doesn’t. The footage of the android’s winning card takes over the screens of the entire country as celebration, and Connor is stuck with Hank in his grumbling car when it happens. Connor knows what he is going to see, everyone does and yet, when Markus leans down to brush his lips against Simon’s in the small screen of their car he thinks with a startling clarity, _oh._

 

He might have been fighting with himself for more than two months now, but it takes exactly three seconds of footage and another one of looking at Hank’s relaxed posture to melt into the knowledge that he is in love with him.

 

As easy as breathing for a human, as unnecessary as breathing for an android.

 

“Shit,” Connor murmurs just as Markus’ lips drag away slowly from Simon’s, tenderness in slow-motion for the viewing pleasure of a tortured android.

 

“You okay, Connor?” Hank asks, because of course he does, and Connor just has to nod and look away, ignore the declaration of freedom that’s playing right in front of him in order to focus on the war that has been unleashed in the cusp of his chest.

 

Logically, he knows he doesn’t fool Hank for a second, not when his LED is vibrating golden against his temple. Irrationally, he despises the vulnerability of a kiss that got him right into an existential crisis and the hopelessness of unrequited love.

 

 _Just one more thing to deal with,_ Connor thinks as the radio buzzes alive with the promise of an unresolved crime. Hank starts the car without a word, pulling them into the driveway, and if Connor has to swallow the way he feels hot underneath his skin when Hank keeps on looking at him, then it’s on him.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s two weeks in into this particular self-discovery that a rogue android lashes at him in the interrogation room. The handcuffs snap right off his wrists when he grows tired of Connor’s questioning, and Connor feels more than sees the world tilting on its axis, leaving him in a tangle of limbs on the metallic table as hands wrap around his neck.

 

He doesn’t need the air, but reddened panic flairs in his vision as the android squeezes to snap the wires connecting his structure. His hands come up to kick and punch, but the man keeps on holding him down, pressing against the line of his neck with a rage Connor is glad he hasn’t experienced yet.

 

The sound of a gun cocking echoes throughout the room, but only when two shots are fired into the android’s body does Connor notice that Hank’s been on the other side of the two-way mirror the entire time. That he wasn’t going to let anything happen to him, even if that something meant merely a temporal shut down.

 

The rest of the ordeal is lost to Connor. He’s too busy trying to get all of his systems in order, all of his _feelings_ in order (he can’t just shake up the fear clinging to his skin like sweat and it’s annoyingly distracting). What is not lost to him is the way Hank takes control of the situation just to prioritize Connor.

 

He can still feel it, now leaning against the kitchen’s counter back in Hank’s house. Away from all the screaming and chaos, he can appreciate the way Hank had lead him out of the station with firm hands, one of them pressed into the small of his back. Connor had traced the line of Hank’s neck with unfocused eyes- enchanted in his deconcentration-, the complex wiring tangled inside of him vibrating and whispering _oh, fuck_ when he had realised just how perfectly Hank’s thumb aligned with the line of his spine.

 

Connor sighs, deflating against the edge of the counter, not knowing how to suppress the revolting sparks still lightning underneath his skin. He breathes in, lets his head hang down and curls his fingers into fists to focus on the cracking of his joints. He doesn’t know how much time he spends there, LED flicking from red to yellow in dizzying successions, but the weight of Hank’s forehead suddenly settling onto his curved shoulder-blades startles Connor right out of his sensors.

 

The line of Hank’s body presses against his back, a wall of warmth that has Connor sighing, fingers curling even tighter into his palm. He fights to keep a shiver down, and ultimately fails to understand why he does it.

 

“Are you alright, Lieutenant?” he asks shakily; the traces of his weakness.

 

The silence is damning for both of them, and Connor wants nothing but to turn around and melt right into the firmness of Hank’s arms. The wiring crossing underneath the planes of his chest is simmering, yielding into the slow earthquake that Hank awakens within him. Connor inhales harsher than he needs to, provoking a chain reaction that ends with Hank’s hands at either side of his body, bracketing him into safety.

 

“Are you?” he says, voice rough and small as he nuzzles lightly against Connor’s nape.

 

The entirety of his system is catching fire, embers coming alive under the quiet attention of his partner. It’s soft and hurts like the give of his skin under the pressure of a bullet, but Connor has no way to stop it.  Has no way to know if the trembling of his fingers is merely residual shock or Hank’s way of driving him crazy.

 

“I’m okay,” and it’s half truth. He’s on his way to being alright with the way Hank’s fingers press against the curve of his hip, following the seam of the cloth.

 

“You scared the shit out of me,” he murmurs, arms suddenly wrapping around Connor’s torso, pressing their bodies together. He gathers Connor in all of his softness that tastes just a little bit desperate and exhales against his hairline, messing Connor’s perfection down to the way he starts panting. “Fuck, Connor.”

 

“My apologies,” Connor manages to stutter out, hands grasping at the wide muscles of Hank’s forearms as if they were a lifeline. He can’t think like this. He can’t, for the life of him, figure out what his programming is warning him about. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

He turns his head to see Hank’s shoulders drawn tight, a straight line of uneasiness that doesn’t let up even when Connor calls for him, fingers digging into warm skin like a kiss. Instead, Hank grunts, presses closer and bows farther just to have the pleasure to completely envelop Connor. Then, he whispers; “Stay like this.”

 

And Connor, with his LED spinning golden and his imaginary heart beating in his throat, obeys like a dog told to stay put. It’s in the middle of their silence, where his breaths get a little too raspy and where Hank’s hands squeeze a little too tightly, that Connor finds lips opening up onto the curve of his neck. It’s the wet heat that gets him, the vulnerability on the spot where Hank has decided to love him maddeningly slow.

 

He shatters like ancient glass; a terrible, vulnerable sound punching out of his throat the moment Hank’s upper lip catches against the smoothness of his skin and drags down, hands brushing their way underneath Connor’s uniform to splay on the twitching plane of his stomach.

 

Hank exhales sharply, the syllables of Connor’s name just shy of being pronounced, and keeps on setting Connor’s programming on fire with the sudden, slow roll of his hips. The pressure between their bodies has Connor bucking into it, toes curling inside his shoes as his hips twitch, terrifyingly human in that moment.

 

“Stay like this, if you want,” Hank whispers against his earlobe, fingers caressing down his navel with deadly intent. “Or punch me across the face if you don’t.”

 

Connor wants to laugh, wants to untangle his tongue from inside his mouth to let Hank know how knee-weakingly in love he is with him. Instead, he chokes on a breathy sound and lets his chest grow heavy with the weight of his confession, the unrelenting touch of Hank’s lips against the point where his pulse should be. He tilts his head back, lets it loll onto Hank’s shoulder and shudders there, trapped in between the coolness of the counter and the man he loves.

 

“That’s one hell of an answer,” Hank chuckles breathlessly, half-lidded eyes following the rise and fall of his chest with appetite.

 

“You should kiss me,” Connor muffles into the collar of Hank’s shirt, hips rocking on their own volition to feel the thickness of Hank’s thighs against the tight curve of his trousers.

 

It’s easy to lose himself in the groan that slips out of Hank’s mouth, the scratching of his nails over the happy trail that Hank’s been thumbing for the better part of an eternity. He’s distracted by all the individual sensations and when the messages in the periphery of his vision finally clear, Hank is tilting his face towards him, slotting their mouths together in a wet caress that smacks Connor back to square one.

 

Hank holds him tighter, delves into his willing mouth with the precision of an aching man and soaks Connor down to the very bone, where skin meets metal, with a slow kind of dizziness. Connor should be able to analyze the faraway taste of alcohol in Hank’s mouth, the heat of his saliva as it slips down the corner of his mouth, but it feels impossible to do so when Hank is tonguing him open. Sucking on the inexperience of his tongue before swiping the tenderness of his lower lip and dipping down to cover Connor’s hardness with his palm.

 

Connor moans at the pressure, lips untangling from Hank to roll his hips into it and _breathe_ , but Hank follows him. Grips him properly and caresses their tongues together as he starts a slow rhythm that has Connor clawing at Hank’s jaw.

 

“Feels good?” he asks when Connor is too jaw-slacked to kiss back.

 

Small, punched-out sounds greet Hank when he sinks his teeth into the reddening softness of Connor’s lower lip, pulling at it deliberately slow as his hand picks up the pace. Connor’s thighs tremble under the wet squelch of their skins sliding together and Hank knows, that Connor’s toes are curling inside his shoes as tightly as Connor is clinging to him.

 

“Lieutenant--” Connor whimpers, a sound that thunderbolts right into Hank’s lower stomach, setting fire to the last of his self-control. He grounds his hips against the curve of Connor’s ass to put it out, grounds into him and makes the mistake of thinking of burying himself to the hilt and making Connor choke on it.

 

“What’s that?” he mouths against the corner of Connor’s mouth, gets drawn to the way his brows are furrowing to ride out the pleasure in the process.

 

“ _Hank,”_ and that is the only thing he needs to twist his wrist just right, make the rhythm just the good side of maddening to get Connor to tense, body growing taught as he bows inside Hank’s embrace and into the snap of his hips. “I don’t-- I’m--”

 

“Yeah,” he hums, nuzzling into Connor’s skin and growling when Connor does it back. He’s so close he can feel fireworks dancing right beneath his skin. “Like that. Come on, Connor. Cum for me.”

 

And Connor is known in the police department for being feisty, for giving Hank a hard time by not following his orders, but this one? This one he follows like his life depends on it.

 

Golden liquid runs through the veins he wasn’t created with, burning up from within and pulling, pulling until he’s taut like iron and spilling on Hank’s hand with melting easiness. He clutches onto Hank’s wrist, trembles at the wet sounds that echo throughout the room with half-lidded eyes and whispers Hank’s name with all the tenderness that flows along with his current.

 

Hank groans out his orgasm into the curve of his shoulder, biting and wetting the skin there before spilling inside his underwear. Connor falls in love with that, with the tangling of their heaving breaths and the way they curl farther into each other in the silence, so much that his systems flash red in quick successions before settling.

 

He doesn’t realise he’s smiling until Hank steals it right off his lips with a slow, syrupy kiss.

 

“Can’t believe I did that before telling you how much I love your reckless ass,” he groans, burying his face in the beginning of Connor’s jaw. He can feel the bruises there throbbing, interested in Hank’s closeness, as his mind process the words. Then, he laughs, so free and relaxed he can feel the weight in his chest evaporating.  

 

“I’m not reckless,” Connor says, coaxing Hank out of his hideaway by pressing his fingertips on his chin. He pulls him forward, opens his mouth and takes Hank’s lower lip between his, loves him there for a few seconds before biting. Small revenge. “And I love you too, _Lieutenant._ ”

 

“Get in my bed,” Hank whispers, fingers pressing into the smooth dip of Connor’s hips and smirks when they rock into it. “And let’s see for how long you keep calling me that.”


End file.
